Dissonant Shots
by QueenofConstellations
Summary: Edmund accidentally finds out that Anna kissed Simcoe, and seeks to terminate their relationship. Luckily, Anna's too stubborn for that.
**A/N: So what would happen if Edmund found out that Anna kissed Simcoe, without any context? Let's find out!**

Major Edmund Hewlett did not often venture into taverns, much less one formerly owned by the woman he optimistically hoped to court. Nevertheless, he found himself there on a peaceful evening, when the sky had just shifted from afternoon to dusk, and looked around for Anna. She was usually working at the time, and he would be hard-pressed to claim that he didn't come here for her company. The tavern smelled of stale beer and wood shavings; a comforting, almost familiar smell that reminded Edmund fondly of stables. The smell of wood shavings and hay weren't far off, and he found himself almost smiling.

"She's in the basement," De Young offered freely as he walked by, his coat just brushing the edges of Edmund's. "Should be back up in a moment."

Edmund offered his thanks and took a seat at the end of the only free table that was occupied on the other end by Robeson. A grizzly, frail man, Edmund often took pains to avoid him. There was something he didn't like in his eyes; a darkness that reminded him of cannon smoke and sneaking men outside of uniform with a knife clutched desperately between their hands.

"Lookin' fer yer lady, arntya?" he grumbled, his chin practically resting in his tankard. It took Edmund a while to realize Robeson was speaking to him, and another long moment before he decided to respond.

He cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, silently wishing Robeson would do the same. "She's uh…she's not my lady, but yes…yes, I am looking for her."

Robeson nodded, the edges of his frazzled beard twitching into a smile. Edmund felt his own lips turn downward. His smile turned to quiet chuckles, then to guffaws. Edmund glanced around the tavern in embarrassment; no one else even looked their way. Finally, as Robeson's mirth subsided, Edmund cleared his throat once more.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

Robeson finally lifted his chin from his drink and gave Edmund a full on smirk. "'s jus' funny that that gerl can play so many King's men at once,'s all."

Edmund's eyes flickered over to the doorway that Anna would have to walk through from the basement. There was still no sign of her. Robeson's chuckles had died away, and he was waiting for Edmund's reaction. Finally, the implication sunk in.

"Play the King's men?" he repeated. "How so?"

"Come on, e'ryone saw her kissin' Captain Simcoe by the docks why you was off capt'red," Robeson said, almost exasperated that Edmund hadn't already known. "Yuh mean no one told yer?"

The words, in that particular order, didn't make sense to him. He sat there for an embarrassingly long time, trying to figure out if the drunk and illiterate Robeson had just said what he thought he'd said. Eventually, he had to accept that Robeson had, in fact, said that Anna had kissed Simcoe.

"You mean Mrs. Strong?" Edmund asked out of pure desperation, hoping that Robeson, in his own drunken stupor and no short supply of idiocy, had somehow derived a different woman. But Robeson nodded his head.

"Fer a long time, too," he noted, as if Edmund had asked.

He could feel the blood rushing to his face, darkening his already pasty complexion. Anna had told him on multiple occasions that she couldn't stand Simcoe, that he scared her. He thought that she held affection for him. His anger, his humiliation, was a beacon for all to see. He felt like the whole tavern was looking at him, but, as usual, hardly anyone noticed him.

He muttered something unintelligible to Robeson, who was hardly paying him any attention anymore anyway and stood to leave, forgetting momentarily why he had come.

"Major Hewlett!" Anna's voice was soft and light. "What a pleasant surprise. Shall I get you a drink?"

She was smiling warmly at him, affection shining in her eyes. Had she smiled at Simcoe like that? What event could have possibly earned the most demented soldier graced with a title a kiss from the same lips Edmund had yet to taste? How had Simcoe earned her affection?

He averted his eyes from her lest he lose his nerve and turn himself into a bigger fool. "Mrs. Strong. I was just…leaving."

And he did just that, as quickly as he could, leaving Anna looking confused and a little dejected. He spared her a glance just before she was out of view, but she had already turned back to her job. He supposed his own departure didn't haunt her the way he hoped.

The next week was a painful one. He was so used to spending his free time in Anna's company that wrenching himself from her pleasant atmosphere was disorienting, and not at all favorable. He spent more time up in his room, with the door locked, reading books he'd already read. He could hear her playing the harpsichord downstairs, her own playing a clumsier and less-smooth version of Mary's, who often played in the early morning. He would catch himself pausing in his reading to listen to her playing, correcting her silently when she missed a note or held one too long.

She had tried to catch his attention; at least, he thought she had. He couldn't be sure if he was reading into any of her behaviors correctly anymore. She had offered to look at the stars with him only a few days ago, and he had declined under the premise of the weather; though, truth be told, the night that she suggested was the clearest they would get for a long time.

She always sat on his left at meals, and tried, with increasing futility, to bring him into conversation while the Woodhulls at the other end of the table were discussing something different. He could hardly bring himself to join in, and often he left her conversation hanging rather rudely in the air.

He wanted to be her friend, her companion, so desperately that the idea of her deception, whether or not he should have been privy to the information notwithstanding, was repugnant to him. He tried to get past it, tried to forget that Robeson had said anything to him in the first place, but every time he looked at her he wondered how Simcoe had managed to get so incredibly, unfairly lucky.

"Major?" Anna asked from the doorway of the sitting room, when Edmund had finally managed to brave being downstairs during the daylight hours. Already regretting this decision, he ignored her. "Edmund."

The sound of his given name forced his eyes up to hers. She was still standing at the doorway, looking nervous; he was momentarily worried that something had happened to her, but he recognized the way she was avoiding his gaze. She was nervous, on edge, because of him. It had been eight days since Robeson had accidentally spilled Anna's secret, and she still had no idea. They had said fewer than ten words to each other during that time, and Anna was quickly realizing that, for some reason, Edmund didn't want her company.

He could see that his disinterest hurt her feelings; it was written there in the slope of her brow, the creases between her eyebrows, but he tried to steel himself against it. He was only going to hurt himself, continuing his friendship with her when he so obviously wanted more while she obviously did not.

"I was wondering if you'd like to show me some of the stars tonight," she offered, looking more at her hands than at him. "I hear it's supposed to be –"

"I can't," he answered quickly, turning his gaze back to his book. Anna faltered, and Edmund struggled to keep his eyes on the words that his eyes were tracing but his mind was not remembering.

She had moved closer to him, he noticed, the sound of her skirts on the floor giving her away.

"Did I do something to upset you?" she asked, closing the space and sitting tentatively on the edge of the couch he occupied. Just having her that close made his pulse jump. He cursed himself.

"No," he lied. He closed the book and stood, intending to put it back on the shelf.

She sighed in exasperation. "You won't even look at me."

He froze, his hand extended toward the bookshelf. So she had noticed, after all. He took some satisfaction that his own coldness hadn't gone unnoticed. When she spoke again, her voice was thicker than usual, like she was struggling not to cry.

"You said you wanted to be friends, so I thought that you liked being in my company, but it appears that I misunderstood you. I'm sorry if I've upset you," she said, rising from her spot on the couch and moving toward the door. He wanted to let her go, to let this conversation be the one that kept them apart for his own sake, but his mouth apparently had other plans.

"Are you friends with Captain Simcoe as well?" he asked quietly, despite himself. She froze in the act of leaving the room; he could see the tension in her shoulders. Did she know that he knew yet?

She turned around to face him, her face marginally more confident now that he was speaking to her. "Of course not, you know that," she answered. "Why would you ask me such a question?"

"Why would you kiss him, then?" he asked before he could stop himself.

The silence that followed his question was complete, thick, dark. Anna's look of shock quickly morphed into something different, and she struggled to keep her composure. "Who told you that?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"Robeson said the whole town saw you do it," Edmund replied. "The whole town, Anna?"

"Are you really that dense?" she asked suddenly, her voice quickly rising in volume and intensity. "Did you really just take the word of Robeson without even speaking to me?" Her insecurity, the fragility that had lightened her movements was gone now, replaced with anger. She wasn't tiptoeing around him anymore; they were back to where they had been before they were friends – before he knew he loved her.

"Did you or did you not kiss Simcoe?" Edmund was almost shouting now, his tone matching hers. She regarded him furiously, hair falling quickly out of her bun. She didn't seem to care that they were almost shouting at each other in a room without doors.

"I did," she admitted, and Edmund let out a defeated sigh, "but that's none of your business."

He wanted desperately to roll his eyes. She was so _infuriating_. "So it is true then."

She didn't bother to answer him. "I thought you wanted to be my friend, Edmund. Wasn't that what you said? Play-tonic?" she practically spit the word at him, and he recoiled from it. His ill-fated bumbling, when he had truly been asking permission to court her directly and prematurely chickened out, was a memory he didn't like to recall.

He let out a mirthless laugh that took her by surprise. "And I suppose it never crossed your mind that the Oyster Major could be in love with you, did it? You never gave me a bloody second thought, no matter how much I've tried to protect you, no matter how many times I've tried to show you that I'm right here. I'm _right here_!"

"Do _not_ call yourself that," she admonished sharply, color rising to her cheeks at the mention of love.

"What? Oyster Major? It's not like it matters."

He watched as Anna, frustrated, yanked her hair free from her bun and tossed it over her shoulder like it was getting in her way. The long, dark brown locks were just visible below her elbows. She looked almost radically different now, her face elongated, her eyes more mature.

"Ask me why," she demanded, crossing her arms. Edmund felt his resolve crumble at the picture of beauty she created, with her flushed face and chest, hair falling around her. She was breathing heavily, her breasts straining the bodice of her gown, the nerves in her neck tensing with each inhale.

"Why what?" he asked finally, practically breathless.

"Ask me why I kissed Simcoe," she clarified. "Go on."

And suddenly…her spell was broken. Edmund turned away from her, back to the bookshelf so she couldn't intoxicate him with her beauty. "It doesn't matter, Mrs. Strong," he replied."You don't owe me an explanation. I'm not your husband."

The _'but I want to be'_ was unspoken, but it seemed like they both heard it.

"I know you want to know," she intoned, trying to keep her volume under control. It was a wonder that they hadn't been interrupted yet. "Just ask me."

He groaned, exasperated, fed up with this conversation. "Fine. Why did you?"

"It was his price," Anna said softly from behind him. "His price for saving _you_."

Edmund furrowed his brow but didn't turn around. Anna, undeterred, continued.

"I begged him to take his soldiers and ride to save your life, and he refused. After…trying to persuade him, he decided that a kiss was his price. He made me do it in front of the whole town. He held me there for too long, so everyone could see. Probably so this very thing would happen." Edmund heard her sigh heavily and felt her presence drop gracefully onto the couch. "I thought he was my only hope in getting you back."

He was trying to piece together what this meant, how this revealed the depth of her feelings for him.

"They took you from this very room, Edmund," she was on the verge of tears now, and he finally turned to face her. "From right beside me. I couldn't…I couldn't just let them take you and do nothing."

He remembered her scream, the desperation that tore at him as she dissolved into tears. He remembered that face because it helped keep him alive. She helped keep him sane while he was in captivity. He had told her as much, once before, but he had no idea what the ordeal had been like for her while he was gone. He had never bothered to ask.

"And then he told me that you were dead, and I remember feeling like my entire world had ended. I let him hold me while I cried, because I truly didn't care what happened to me anymore. I had no idea that I cared so much…until I thought you were gone."

He saw the relief in the same eyes that held unshed tears. "Why didn't you tell me that?" he asked.

"Because I was _ashamed_ ," she cried, pulling her long hair over her shoulder. "I never wanted to remember that again."

But Edmund had realized something while she was talking; his face lost its softness. It was replaced with a clenched jaw calm that hid a storm behind it. "You said he held you there?"

Something in his voice must have frightened her, because she was by his side in a moment. "It wasn't…it doesn't matter, Edmund. You're safe now. _We're_ safe now."

He brushed her off; his hands, clenched into fists, were shaking, trembling with anger. He hadn't felt this way in so long. He was moving with purpose, he hardly knew what he was doing. His feet carried him up the stairs, Anna behind him. He could hear Anna protesting behind him, begging him to forget she'd said anything, that it wasn't that important.

He realized as he was opening the drawer that he was going for his pistol. He heard her horrified gasp as she recognized what he was holding.

"Edmund, please, don't," Anna pleaded, grabbing for the pistol. "Don't do this. You're going to get yourself killed."

He placed his hand over her smaller one. "Anna, darling." He could see the hope in her eyes – she thought he was going to forget all about it. But no, he couldn't. Taking advantage of a woman, by any means, in any capacity, was a dishonorable and disgusting offense. Simcoe would pay. "Stay here."

Her hands were at his neck now, touching his bare skin under his collar. His pulse skyrocketed at her proximity, but he forced it aside.

"He will kill you," she insisted. "He's bloodthirsty, and he's a monster."

Edmund, as calmly as he could despite the shaking of his hand, took one of hers and gently dropped a kiss to the inside of her wrist. "It's time I put him down like the rabid dog he is."

She followed him down the stairs, trying to come up with reasons he should stay, but he all but ignored her. He left Mary, Thomas, and Richard in the sitting room they had just vacated (where was Abraham?) and pushed the front door open.

"You," he said, grabbing one of the guards at the door by the back of the collar. "Come with me. Take my pistol."

"Sir?" the guard, Ensign Rys, took the pistol and held it carefully. "Where are we going?" His eyes strayed back to Anna before landing back on his commanding officer.

"You are going to be my second," Edmund hissed. "Now, I hope you have a coin. And where can I find Captain Simcoe?"

"Second?" Anna screeched. "You mean to duel him? It's the dead of night."

"Do you want to give him a chance to ferret his way out of this?" Edmund asked, his voice still rough with anger. "No, this ends tonight." He turned back to Rhys. "Now, Simcoe?"

"By his camp, sir," Rhys pointed to the fire, surrounded on all sides by the Queen's Rangers.

Captain Simcoe was sitting around that very same fire, his brown hair ruffled against the wind. When he caught sight of Anna, he stood quickly, brushing off imaginary dust and wood from his pants. His eyes belatedly fell to Edmund.

"Major Hewlett," he simpered. "To what do I owe the…pleasure?"

"Grab a pistol and your second," Edmund demanded, his voice gruff and his accent more pronounced. "To the woods. Now."

Simcoe regarded him carefully. "You're challenging me to a duel? For what?"

Edmund faltered for a moment. "You have done many revolting things that would push any sane man to ask for a duel. In this case, you threatened the honor of Mrs. Strong. And that, along with any other transgressions against women, I cannot tolerate. Grab your second, Captain." There was a long pause, where the two soldiers considered each other. _"Now!"_

Simcoe smirked and motioned to Akinbode, who was already grabbing his own pistol. The group moved away from the fire and into the darkness of the woods. Anna had fallen silent at the sight of Simcoe, sticking close to Edmund's side. Just his presence still put her on edge.

"I'm surprised it took you this long to tell Major Hewlett about our little…moment," Simcoe said softly, his voice too close to Anna's for comfort, but just loud enough for Edmund to hear.

"Do not presume to speak to her again," Edmund snapped. "Or I'll shoot you where you stand."

Anna placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I can handle this." She turned to Simcoe and gave him her sweetest smile. "You better hope that Major Hewlett's shot kills you," she replied. "Because if his doesn't…mine will."

Simcoe's eyebrows raised, widening his already wide eyes. "I thought Rhys was your second," he remarked to Edmund.

"He is."

"He _was_ ," Anna clarified. "I think I've been through enough to take my own shot."

"Anna, you can't," Edmund replied softly, trying to be reassuring and firm at the same time. "Duels are not meant for women."

"So you can fight in our name but not with us by your side?" she asked indignantly. "I've earned this, Edmund. You won't take it from me. And if I have to take over, you'll be too incapacitated to do anything about it."

He blinked several times in quick succession. "Yes…well. I suppose you're right. But I don't plan for that to be an issue."

She kissed him quickly on the cheek, the same way she did when he returned from his capture. "Then don't miss."

He offered her his arm, an unnecessary show of gallantry in the dark woods, but she took it anyway. His other hand, freed of the pistol that Rhys was now holding, came to rest on top of her smaller fingers. His hands were shaking. She gave them a reassuring squeeze. He had to win this, he thought. He _had_ to.

They had reached the same clearing that Abraham and Simcoe had once stood to duel. Simcoe regarded the spot with a smile that sent Anna's anxiety through the roof. The seconds held the two pistols, checking the opponent's pistol for anything out of order. Anna watched with an almost detached quiet as they loaded them, handed them to the corresponding officers, and held out a coin.

She watched as Rhys flipped it and caught it deftly out of the air.

"Captain Simcoe has the opportunity to draw first blood," he called into the night air. Anna's quiet gasp, went unnoticed. Edmund turned to her and tilted his head toward the woods, telling her silently to retreat into them for her safety.

They stood with their backs to each other, their breaths coming in little clouds. She watched as they took their ten steps. Simcoe turned, and Edmund was facing him, his pistol hand steady. Simcoe raised his gun into the silence and aimed.

She closed her eyes as the gunshot rang out. She heard Edmund grunt, but couldn't bring herself to look.

"My turn," she heard him say, and opened her eyes eagerly. His other hand was clutching at a wound in his side, but his hand was raised, pointing the gun at Simcoe.

Simcoe's eyes, for the first time, betrayed fear. Anna felt a smile tug at her lips. Serves him right, she thought. Let him feel fear when he so often gave it to others. Edmund's hand, holding onto his side, was starting to reveal blood between his fingers. She watched with horror as he removed his hand from the wound to steady his gun hand.

The bloodstain was spreading.

The gunshot took her by surprise. She watched as Simcoe crumbled, falling onto the cold ground, clutching his leg. She was so engrossed in watching the fabled villain fall that she almost missed Edmund falling to his knees.

Her scream echoed in the trees.

Edmund woke in his bed, a pain radiating from his side. He groaned; he had been in this position too often for his comfort. He heard a quiet inhale beside him and opened his eyes slowly, trying to determine the time of day by the sunlight in the sky. It had to only be early morning.

Anna was sitting beside him, her hand in his, her eyes heavy with sleep. "Anna," he said quietly, triumphantly.

"You're awake," she remarked. "I thought you'd sleep for a while."

"What happened?" he asked, flinching as he tried to sit up.

"You shot Simcoe," she said proudly, bringing his hand to her mouth and kissing it over the knuckles. "In the knee. He forfeited the duel, seeing as he couldn't stand. And you passed out right after. Neither seconds seemed keen on shooting at each other."

"And me?" he asked.

"You got nicked in the side, but you lost a good amount of blood, so you'll be in bed for a while," her eyes dropped to the wound on his side. "You protected my honor."

"It was my pleasure," he said, closing his eyes and leaning back into the pillows.

He felt her rise from her chair and figured that she was going to let him sleep; he welcomed the embrace of sleep. But her footsteps were silent. He felt her hand rest on the side of his face, her thumb gently tracing the top of his cheekbone. He sighed at the softness, the sweetness of the gesture.

And then her lips were pressed to his forehead, her still loose hair falling onto the pillow. He let his own hands rise to her face and hold her there, relishing in the tenderness of her. She gave him another kiss, this time on the cheek, her breath lingering on his lips for a moment before she landed on his cheek.

"Please," he whispered, not even realizing the word was sliding out of his mouth. She chuckled quietly, unwilling to break the spell. He wasn't sure what he was asking for, or why he was begging, but she obliged him.

She pressed her lips gently to his own, settling like butterfly wings. He pulled her closer and felt her hesitation, her fear of hurting his wound, and he tilted her head, deepening her kiss. He felt her mouth open in surprise and slid his tongue into her mouth, groaning deeply when she let go of his face and braced herself on the mattress beside him. She let him have control, let him brush his tongue over her lower lip, sucking gently on it while she whimpered quiet sounds of approval.

If he had to get shot for this piece of heaven, he reflected, he would gladly face Simcoe every day. He pulled her onto the bed gently, smiling when she extricated herself from him to settle onto the bed away from his wound. He pulled her close, her head resting gently on his chest, and kissed the top of her head.

Their embrace was improper, a married woman in another man's bed, but he didn't care. He felt keenly the fleeting impermanence of life, and clutched tightly to the woman beside him. Propriety be damned, he thought as he tilted her chin up to his for another breathtaking kiss.


End file.
